


Repose

by cafeanna



Series: uvopika walks into a bar [3]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aftercare, Crying During Sex, Kurapika gets sappy, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29445720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cafeanna/pseuds/cafeanna
Summary: Uvo has his hair coiled up atop his head, intent on the task at hand, and Kurapika hums, leaning forward until his forehead is touching his chest. “I like it when you do that.” An unmodulated hum vibrates in his chest, curious. “Your thinking face . .  . when you’re focusing.”OR, Kurapika thinks about what he likes about Uvo.
Relationships: Kurapika/Uvogin | Ubogin
Series: uvopika walks into a bar [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2118696
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	Repose

**Author's Note:**

> *what I like about you plays in the distance* ngl, this took me a minute to pin down

“— _yes_ , just like that.”

Uvo’s voice is a cool hiss against his skin, hands pulling him somehow _closer,_ and Kurapika preens. “You’re so good.” The praise sinking down the electric curl of spine as Kurapika rocks against him, harder now with the pull of Uvo’s hands. 

He likes when Uvo does that.

He likes Uvo’s voice when it pitches low, and husky, and needy. He likes Uvo’s hands moving him around as if he were weightless. His mouth on his skin. His—

He likes Uvo. He likes how he makes him feel.

He likes the blissed look on his face when Kurapika climbs on top of him, hands running up his chest as he grinds back, breathy, head falling back as utter filth rolls off his tongue. And then Uvo just devours him as if Kurapika were something sweet, and pliant, and all _his_.

A whine slips from his throat when Uvo pulls him down by his hip. Onto him, into him. His vision goes a bit spotty as the _painpleasuremore_ curls in his belly, pulling his muscles tight. Kurapika is still not used to the stretch when Uvo breaks him open. And, if he’s being honest, he’s not quite sure he wants to be. Never. He likes it too much.

“I— _oh_ ,” His words slurring across his tongue as Uvo pulls him down again, open mouth slotting against his own, and when they break Kurapika knows his lips are bitten and red cherry and he wants—“God, do that again.”

His mind has gone hazy and he can feel his control slipping, the lid on those intrusive thoughts. Some strange anxiety. Some doubt.

It is not supposed to be like this. Or, when is the last time someone fucked him this good? When is the last time he felt kissed and warm and unwrapped like a present? Fingers tugging at silk and lace, ribbons and garters; large hands and hard palms mapping across his body with hums of satisfaction. Praise wet and whispered into the sweaty hollow of his throat.

And he likes that.

He likes being wanted like that. Desired.

All week he has had the memory of their last encounter aching up his thighs. The grip of hands, sure against his waist. Those same hands pushing him down, curling in his hair, finger pressing against his throat—negotiations, whatever Kurapika is willing to ask for, Uvo is willing to give, and Uvo is so, so good at making him ask. Filling him up and leaving him boneless.

And that’s just what he wanted.

Uvo rocking up into him good and hard, pulling him down the length of his thrust. It’s something he’s wanted all week. What he thinks of when he can’t sleep. A pace that started slow with the careful, teasing wind of Kurapika’s hips, hitting with the beat of Uvo’s breaths, and now picking up the tempo into something erratic. All he can feel is the stretch of Uvo’s cock, and the dig of teeth on his clavicle, too sharp, too much—

“You good, sweetheart?”

And it’s good. _He’s_ good. More than good.

Too good.

Kurapika realizes too late the slip of tears running down his cheeks. The noises falling from his mouth hitting more sobs than moans.

For a moment, he is too gut-wrenchingly, horribly _embarrassed_ with himself that his breath comes to stutter.

Uvo slows to a stop, easing up on him, hands bracing against his waist, _stopping,_ and Kurapika scrambles against him, grip tightening on his shoulders. “No, no, I—I can’t—I just. _Please,_ I—” His words are whimpers, not soft, but needy. Cracking open his chest and pulling him down.

Kurapika cannot see Uvo through the bleary blink of tears, but before he realizes it, he is on his back. Marooned, alone, and too full, before Uvo is on him again, rolling into him with a sharp thrust that has Kurapika moving up the bed. A little scream slicing through his teeth. The new sensation hitting sharp and different, as Uvo lifts his hips up to meet him.

Uvo mutters something to him, but Kurapika is too preoccupied trying to get his hands on something; legs winding, heels digging against the backs of Uvo’s hips, urging him harder, _faster_ even now with Uvo bearing down on top of him.

He can taste the brine of his own sweat, his tears, the salt water ocean of an open wound and Uvo’s fingers against his lips, demanding against his tongue before that same hand dives between them.

Kurapika doesn’t last much longer then.

Back coming to bow, clenching down hard. His voice rough from whispers and praises and sobs. His humming cools to a hiss when Uvo pulls his hand off him, gripping his hips and pulling him up, off the bed and—

Uvo shudders above him, hips pressing against the back of thighs, bearing down to collapse on his elbow, breath uneven above Kurapika’s ear. And they stay like that a minute, Uvo grinding into him in the aftershocks as if to plant himself somehow deeper. Kurapika digs his nails into Uvo’s waist.

The slide out feels almost sweet, not a loss, but giving. Kurapika shutters all the same and turns over on his side.

Uvo’s mattress is bigger than his, both out of necessity and luxury, and it feels like the easiest thing in the world to curl into his side, exhaustion ebbing at the edge of his senses. He is clawing for a blanket, eyes heavy, when Uvo taps his thigh. “Hey, hey—no, you’re not falling asleep on me.”

Kurapika lifts his head, offense coloring his tone. “Are you kicking me out—?”

“Yes, my next hook up gets here in ten.” Uvo snorts, palm filling against his hip. “If you’re gonna spend the night at least shower first. Nasty.”

Kurapika stares at him for a long number of seconds. It never crossed his mind to spend the night. In fact, his pulse quickens at the words _spend the night_ and he’s not sure if its in a good way.

He supposes he can shower before he leaves. Wash his hair and find his dignity before he scurries on home. He’s not really one to be clingy after sex, but—

Kurapika leans up, and stops.

His eyes flicker to Uvo’s.

“I, um.”

The smile that pulls at Uvo’s mouth should be lecherous, prideful, but Kurapika can only feel the warmth under his skin spreading as Uvo gathers him up, jelly limbed, and carries him into the bathroom; clinging to him as Uvo moves a couple shirts hung up to dry, maneuvering the shower door one-handed.

Kurapika’s mouth tastes like beer, though he minds it less on Uvo’s tongue. It hits different with Uvo’s jokes over dinner; scent almost sweet on Uvo’s breath as he tipped his chin to kiss him—

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mumbles, warm water hitting his skin. Uvo shoots him a look and Kurapika closes his eyes, skin prickling. “Nothing.”

“Whatever you say.” He mutters and sets him on his feet, callous soles sliding against the grips. He still feels boneless, and his knee shake in respite. Uvo props him up, hands gripping against the curve of his hip and ribcage. He is about to make a comment, but the grip on his ribs makes him hiss.

Uvo lifts a brow. “Stings?”

Kurapika shakes his head. “It’s good.”

Uvo’s thumb runs beneath the line cutting his ribs, a place where the elastic of Kurapika’s lingerie tugged too hard before it snapped. Ignored in the heat of the moment by Kurapika’s eagerness and Uvo’s innate desire to rip every nice set Kurapika modelled for him.

Tonight, however, had been special.

Valentine’s Day. A mood for romance.

A chance for surprise.

His mind drifts back to dinner, greeting Uvo at his own door in something heart-patterned and sweet, the boost to his ego as Uvo tried to get hands on him, immediate, hungry. The delight in the chase as he slipped out of Uvo’s grip at first—all look, no touch—and sat on Uvo’s lap at his crammed kitchen table, shifting back to get comfortable, and barely noticing when Uvo’s arm circled his waist, guiding him back against his chest.

The rough ground of Uvo’s words in his ears, calling him a tease with a finger sliding up the seam of his thigh and a slut when that finger dipped lower.

Hands in his hair bring him back, tipping his head back against the spray. Eyelashes wet against his cheek.

Uvo has his hair coiled up atop his head, intent on the task at hand, and Kurapika hums, leaning forward until his forehead is touching his chest. “I like it when you do that.” An unmodulated hum vibrates in his chest, curious. “Your thinking face . . . when you’re focusing.”

The sound crumbles in his chest, rising up to his teeth. “What’s you being all cute for?” His fingers tug against his sudsy hair.

Kurapika ignores him, pressing his face into Uvo’s chest, tasting his sweat against his lips. Water running off his clavicle. “I wanna suck your dick.”

“You already did.” Uvo says, hands slipping down his back to the curve of his hips and hanging there, kneading against tender skin; muscles loosening in the shower heat.

“I wanna do it again.” He sighs, lips skimming against the ridge of pectoral. Noting the shiver of Uvo’s chest, though he makes no move to get a hand on him. “You’re too nice to me.”

Uvo makes a noise, somewhat acknowledgement, echoing off the walls in the shower made tinier with the two of them. His fingers massage against the base of his back and the top of his spine, washing away the suds and come, and easing the tense pull of his shoulders and hips into something lax and sleepier than before.

Somewhere in this, Uvo switches positions with him, cracks his shoulder, washes up and grabs a towel from the rack. “I’m gonna fix the bed. You gonna fall asleep like a turkey?”

Kurapika spits a mouthful of water at him as he shuts the door. “I don’t have a toothbrush.”

Uvo’s cackle drifts above the shower into the steam, and when the door clicks Kurapika lets himself rest against the tile. His hands falling over the places where he is tender and sore, making quick work of his shower and trying to wake up.

The tight space smells like eucalyptus.

It makes him think of Uvo after the gym.

He turns off the water and finds a mostly dry towel before standing naked in front of the foggy mirror. He mourns for a moment the blotching high on his neck and the mark stinging his ribs, bemoans it when he sits on the toilet and fishes into the clothes he left on the counter earlier. He is pulling on his underwear, plotting an excuse in his head—Melody, or Illumi, or Bill needing him for something—

The realization hangs in the air a moment, bubbling in his stomach—not a flutter, but a gurgle. It makes him anxious. Jumpy. It locks his legs in place, his sweatshirt folding in his hands. He stands in that bathroom, humidity clinging to his skin and curling up the fine hair of his back and he thinks—

Shit.

He doesn’t want to ruin this. Whatever this is.

He just wants to have some fun.

But, at the same time, he is too tired to leave.

He grabs a tee shirt from the hanger. It’s ginormous on him, but a decent enough sleeping shirt, and steps back into the bedroom.

Uvo is reclining back against his headboard, a crumble of sheets in the corner of the room and fresh blankets piled up on the empty side of the bed. He pauses for a moment, taking in the image of Uvo, supine, legs crossed at the ankle, arm behind his head, the picture of ease as he taps away at his phone.

“I’m looking back at your texts,” he announces, taking note of Kurapika hanging in the doorway, and looks again when he notices his shirt. “I didn’t think you were gonna surprise me like that.” He trails off, tone hinting interest.

Kurapika glares at him.

“Yeah, well,” He pads across the floor, swinging onto the bed, feet slipping under the blankets. “I really thought you would pick up on it when I asked for your spare key.”

“I like surprises. It keeps things interesting.” Uvo says, unconsciously leaning down to pull Kurapika closer, as if he had done it a hundred times before. “Are you one of those really clingy sleepers?”

Kurapika stiffens a moment, before easing himself down to relax. He’s too tired to worry if his occasional hookup wants to cuddle. “Nah, I’m usually a kicker.” Uvo laughs.

“If I sleep on the floor, I’m taking the blankets.”

“I’ll climb on top of you,” Kurapika mumbles, too tired already. “I’ll steal them back.”

He is half-asleep in the warm curve of Uvo’s side when the realization slips easier against the grips.

He likes Uvo.

It’s not a surprise as much as a fact.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hey. look, I let them finish. And KISS, I've had three fics of sexual tension, but I haven't let them kiss once. 
> 
> It’s a marvel and a wonder, but a vague post on my tl (sup, Eddy) pulled three fics out of me in so many months. Oof. I’m just trying to give this corner of the fandom food. Happy Valentine’s Day! May you have candy and hearts and love. 
> 
> -cafeanna


End file.
